Nothing Really Matters
by HuntressDaugher
Summary: Dallas reflects on his hospital experiences, from the time he was little and there with his mom to the present with Johnny. Mild language towards the end.


**Ok, so this did not come to me while I was drying my hair (surprise). It came from YouTube. It started by watching a "21 Guns"/Dallas video YouTube, which I highly suggest. Then I played **_**Outsiders**_** dating games with my grandmother. Yes, my grandmother. Then I watched more music videos, and I watched one about Neil Perry **_**(Dead Poets Society) **_**with "Bohemian Rhapsody" as the song. **

**That was really long.**

**Disclaimer: I only wish I owned even one of them. Preferably Ponyboy or Dally. Now onto the fiction.**

0000

There was nothing good about hospitals. They were just places people went to die.

I wait silently for the nurse to leave. That's what she had done, almost a year ago. She had just lied in bed, breathing in and out slowly, wires and all kinds of other things hooked up to her. She hadn't looked like the pretty girl that had given me a free burger after I got her out of trouble, the pretty girl with eyes that had a laugh in them that I had adored. She had looked tired, and her eyes added to that look. She looked sick.

That's how everyone in hospitals looked.

My mom had looked that way. I had the best mom. I couldn't say the same about my dad. But my mom—she had been something. If my mom had been around, maybe things would have been different. It wasn't her fault she had died; I didn't blame her. It was the doctors' and the hospital. It was their fault that they had both died.

There was nothing good about doctors. Hospitals, doctors' offices, none of them were good. Notice how hospital and hope start with the same three letters—two letters, what does it matter? They gave people false hope, hope that was wrong, stupid. A waste. I hate them.

I hate a lot of things though. Right now, hospitals are at the top of my list. Below that would be the Socs that got us into this mess, the ones who beat up Johnny months ago. I hate cigarettes for starting the fire; every time I try to smoke one, I just throw it down. I hate how everyone keeps going with their lives, not caring to stop for someone else. I hate how they're making me stay here.

I'd spent too much time in this hospital last year. All the same, it hadn't been enough time. I knew every inch of the floor below me. That had been her floor. That was where she had taken her last breath. We'd talked a lot about things never spoken of before. We had talked of dying and of seeing the world, of the wallpaper in the room. Once we'd even talked about socks. We talked about religion a whole lot.

My mom had been a religious person. It was one of the things I remember about her. That was when we were in New York, before we'd come to Oklahoma. I remember waking up on Sunday mornings, and there would be waffles on the table. It was a big table, a little rough looking, and I was just barely tall enough to see over it when I sat in the chair. I would get the yellow telephone book and put it in the chair, and we would have waffles for breakfast. It was about the only meal where my dad was completely sober. Then she would make sure I was clean—I didn't stay clean, the dirt was more fun—and we would walk to church. We would sit in a pew on the left side towards the front, and I would have to be real quiet and still for a long time. But I didn't really mind.

After my mom died, I stopped going to church. My dad stopped, and I was too young to go by myself. We moved to Tulsa a few years later. When we moved and I met her, I went to church with her a few times, only because she asked me. When the ambulance had to rush her to the hospital, that was the first time I went because I wanted to. It was sort of late, but the doors were still open. I went and asked God to make her better. I don't think I did it right though, because she wasn't better for long. Then again, maybe God just doesn't listen to hoods. I went twice after she left.

I should have ended it when I found out that it was back. But I couldn't. I couldn't leave her. I spent so much time with her that there had been about seven months where I wasn't in the cooler. I hadn't been able to get enough of her. It still isn't enough. I miss her every day, and being here only makes it worse. I had loved her. Last year, I had two things left in the world I really loved and I was certain that those two things loved me back. Now I was down to one. It just showed you what happened when you love someone. They get taken away. The Curtises knew. They had both their parents taken away.

Now the last thing in the world that I loved was about to be taken away too. There was no doubt in my mind. I had seen him, even if it had been in Windrixville. Johnny didn't look good at all. And now he was in a hospital. I want to believe that he's ok, but I'm not an idiot and I know about hospitals.

Ponyboy and Two-Bit had come by earlier. Said there was going to be a rumble. I was going to be there. I was going to rumble for everything in me. I was going to rumble for Johnny, for her, for my mom. It ain't a rumble without Dallas Winston.

Maybe if I went to church after the rumble and tried again, God would make Johnny better, even if it hadn't worked last time.

I reach under my pillow and pull out the switch Two-Bit gave me. My opportunity was coming. I figured that the nurses in charge of the rooms around me went on break in five minutes. I had gotten rid of my gown and put my jeans and jacket back on. The floor below, her floor, iss now Johnny's floor. All I had to do was find his room. It was the one right across from hers. They did that on purpose. There had been an old man in that room last time; he'd been in a car crash. He'd made it. Maybe that was a good sign.

"Hey, Johnnycake." His back is burned, bad, and his black hair is singed.

"Hey, Dal," he manages in a weak voice.

"There's a rumble tonight. It's for you, Jonnycake." I step into the room, putting distance between me and the bad one, and get closer to where he can see me. "A rumble all for you."

"It's not worth it."

"It's going to—what? What did you say? _It's not worth it_?"

That's what she had said. Whenever I had come back busted up, or even with just a black eye. _It's not worth it_. They were so much alike it wasn't funny. Even my mom, when older kids had been fighting. _It's not worth it._

Sometimes I wish I had listened to her.

"It's not worth it, Dal," he repeated. "All that fighting. Look where it's gotten us."

"You're wrong." I resist the urge to call him a name. "It is worth it. This is going to fix things."

"No it won't."

"Yes it will. You'll see."

There were no nurse voices in the hallway. I'm able to get away without anyone noticing.

_It's not worth it._

I don't care if it's worth it; I fight for everything I have, which isn't much. With every punch that I hear, every yell, every time someone gets knocked to the ground, the phrase pounds in my head. _It's not worth it. It's not worth it._

When I managed to get the kid in the car after the rumble, I try convincing myself that I did the right thing. It was better that I got the way I did, instead of being soft, like Johnny and her. You get tough, and nothing can touch you. Get touch like me, and nothing can hurt you. Look at where being soft got people. Love people, and you get hurt. Try to help, you get hurt.

I don't know if he hears half of what I say. We get back to the hospital, and Johnny looks even worse.

"Hey, Johnnycake," I say again. He looks at our bruised faces. _It's not worth it._

"We beat the Socs, man. Chased them right out of our neighborhood."

"It's useless."

"Huh? We're all proud of you buddy. You're going to be alright." This has happened before. I've already done this. Twice.

He turns to the kid. "Ponyboy." The kid bends down. "Stay gold, Ponyboy, stay gold."

What does that mean? _Stay gold_? He's delirious. They've got him on so many meds, so drugged up, that he's delirious.

_It's not worth it. _

With that, he's gone. Just gone. I can feel my heartbeat getting faster, and blood pounds in my head. Tears well up. Three times. Now it has been three times.

"Jonny, come on." I touch his arm, and he doesn't move. I can't believe it. "So this is what you get, huh? What you get for helping people." I shake my head. "Punk. Come on, Johnny, don't die." The tears are making me choke. "Come on, Johnny, don't die on me now."

This is too familiar.

"_Dallas, I love you," she says. Her blue eyes are ringed with dark circles, and her long blonde hair is fanned out on the pillow. My beautiful mom looked defeated. Moms weren't supposed to be defeated. They could look tired because they hadn't gotten any sleep, and they could look mad, but not defeated._

"_I love you too."_

"_Will you try to keep you and your father together?" She pets my head, leaving her hand to rest on the back of my neck. _

"_Yes." It's the only thing I can say. What else am I supposed to?_

"_I love you, Dallas," she says again. She goes limp. The bed sinks a little._

"_Mom?" I'm barely taller than the bed, but I stand on my tiptoes. "Mom!"_

_The nurses rush in, and one hurries me out. My dad's in the hall, his head in his hands. No one pays attention to the confused little boy in the hallway. My four-year-old self can't exactly figure out what's happening, and everyone rushes about their business. _

Or the more recent one.

"_Stay out of trouble for me, Dallas?" This has been going on for the past couple of days._

"_I'll try."_

_She laughs. It's genuine, and I laugh because I made her laugh. "You always say that. Will you go to church for me? At least once?"_

"_Yeah. Anything." I push her hair back from her pale face. She manages to scoot over some, just enough for me to lift her so that I have her in my arms and lie beside her. We lay like that for hours. I start talking just to fill the silence. I make her smile and laugh; I make her forget about being sick. _I_ forget about her being sick. It's just like it was in the summer._

_The next day passes too quickly. When they bring dinner around, she doesn't even touch hers, and she pushes the nurses away. I haven't left the hospital in a week. I wouldn't have left that chair if she didn't make me leave to shower and use the bathroom. Her little hand is cold, like normal, in mine._

"_Dallas?" It's so strained. _

"_Yeah," I say, scooting my chair closer. I bang my legs against the bed and barely notice._

"_This has been the best year of my life."_

"_Don't talk that way, doll. You're going to be ok. You have to." I choke back tears._

"_Don't cry." She lifts her hand to my cheek, and I can tell it takes a lot for even that. I press my free hand over hers. "Darling, don't cry."_

"_I love you, Marilyn. Keep going, please." It's one of the first times I've said please in a long time. I bend over and kiss her lips. _

"_I love you, Dallas." Her eyes close. Both hands go limp. She's gone. _

"_Damn," I say. "Damn."_

Hospitals don't help. I lower my head so that the kid can't see me cry, even though I'm not sure he's even still completely aware of what happened. Letting out a cry, I shove away from the bed and punch the wall. It should hurt. But it doesn't. I stand there with my head against it before running down the hall. The doctors start to stop me, but I pull a heater out and they don't dare try.

There's a new sentence added to the existing one. _It doesn't matter. _

"You killed them! You killed them all! Why do you even try?" I shout after one. "It doesn't matter!"

_It doesn't matter. _

I swipe furiously at the tears. From there it's a blur. I know what I have to do. I go to the grocery store, not even a block from the diner where she worked. We all spent so much time there. Good times. I wander around the store for hours. I probably touch every single item they have until I finally grab something and stuff it under my jacket. The worker notices.

"You're going to have to pay for that."

_It doesn't matter. It's not worth it._

I pull the heater out again and walk out. I start running. There's a telephone booth. It takes me five tries before I get the Curtises' number right.

"Darry?"

"Dally?"

"Steve?"

"Yeah."

"Get Darry." There's a pause. Then Darry's deep, "Hello?"

"I robbed a store, man. Cops are on their way. Can you meet me in the park?"

"Yeah."

I hang up and run towards the park. There are familiar sirens behind me and the guys are in front. The fuzz surrounds me, and I pull out the gun for a third time.

There are the guys running towards me. They shout lots of "Dallas!" and "Stops! and "Don't shoot!" I think. Mostly I just hear the same sentence.

_It's not worth it. It doesn't matter._

Nothing really matters. All that matters is gone. There's no need for me to stay.

**I don't really know if I'm happy with this or not. Reviews are appreciated, but I won't beg.**


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